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Broadway, baby! (Snowfall)
Broadway, baby! Part six, Mission Two, of Snowfall. “What’s not to love about New York City, the taxis honk out of New York City,” sings Amy as we enter the cat’s section of the airport in Orlando. “The crime is high, the pigeons fly, what’s not to love about New Yooooooork,” continues Sparkles. “Enough with the songs from TV shows,” I yawn. It was late at night, and the trek from SeaWorld to the airport had sucked the energy from my bones. I had spent two days in the USA, and I was already wishing to go home. Amy had booked the tickets from Sparkles’ phone (“You always hog my phone,” Sparkles had complained earlier) for the next possible flight to NYC, and unfortunately it’s at midnight. We have no luggage except Amy’s carry-on satchel, and the airport is almost empty this late at night. “What time will we arrive at New York?” asks Amsterdam. “My family lives in Manhattan, by the way.” “Four AM,” yawns Amy. “We’ll find ourselves a hotel and sleep until midday. Hopefully we’ll have another clue telling us to enjoy ourselves until the day after tomorrow, or something.” “Does FROST know?” I ask. Amy nods. “I’ve updated them. They’re on their way to finding Amsterdam a place at Little Wings, and they’ve ordered us to fly on a private jet. That’s why the tickets cost so much,” she grinned. We board the plane and settle down. It’s luxurious, with deluxe furniture and TV. I share my time between listening to music, watching movies and reading, and four hours later my eyes are drooping. It was a peaceful flight. “Forget the hotel, we’ll just be like hobos and sleep in a corner of the airport,” Amy grumbles. Sparkles stops walking. “But it’s not—” “Shut it sister, I trained at Little Wings and I know the basics of living homeless,” Amy snaps. She groans and rubs her head with one paw. “Sorry, I just really need some food and some sleep.” “Then let’s get to the nearest McKittie’s and order some wings,” suggests Sparkles. “You book a room in a hotel somewhere near Central Park, Amy; and Amsterdam, Snowpaw and I will get some food.” Amy nods drowsily and hurries away. McKittie’s is a fast food restaurant specialising in fried mouse and other foods of the same nature. We hastily get our order of bird wings and mouse nuggets and start the search for Amy. “You never told her where to meet up,” points out Amsterdam. “So for all we know, she could be drunk in a corner of the airport right now.” Sparkles swears harshly. “I keep telling her she’s not allowed alcohol!” “Mind your language!” I gasp. “We have younger cats around here!” I look around the airport, but the only cats around are the staff members. And they are ''definitely ''not young cats. After a long silence, Amsterdam starts snickering and eventually burrs with laughter. “Get rekt,” he hollers. “Oh man, that should ''totally ''go on Vine!” Not bothering to ask what Vine is or what ‘get rekt’ means, I hurry off in search of Amy. I eventually spot her walking out of a fur salon, her pelt bright white and tips of the skies dyed as they were when I first met her. “Snowpaw! Got any food?” she asks. “Sparkles and Amsterdam are waiting for us,” I hiss. Outside, dawn’s light was peeking above the treetops. “Did you enjoy having your fur re-done?” Amy purrs. “Best thing that’s happened to me so far. Now, where is my McKittie’s?” We check in to our hotel at 10 AM, to find that we’re already booked in. “Please not that stalker again,” I groan as we turn away from the broken elevator and trudge up the stairs. “I’ve dealt with enough fox-dung already on this trip.” Instead of jumping up and turning the doorknob, we slink through the catflap, like every other cat in the cat hotel. Advanced skills can be put aside for now. The room is middle-class: a cabinet with basic tea and coffee making equipment, a TV, a small lounge section complete with a fruit bowl, and two beds. And like I had half-expected, half-dreaded, a white envelope sealed with a metallic golden wax seal. Classy. “Another poem,” I mutter bitterly as I tear open the top and shake the poem out. “Balamory, Balamory, how will we die today?” “Another poem?” gasps Amsterdam. “Let me see!” I shake him off. “You need to rest.” “So do you,” he sulks, crouching down. I yawn and begin to read. Welcome to New York City! How are you still alive? You deserve a day off; so go and take a drive. I’ll be watching you as silently as a snake, Go out and enjoy yourselves, you deserve a break. I smile. “We get a day off!” I beam. “We should sleep until midday, then head out in the town.” “Statue of Liberty, my family, Central Park, steak, Broadway,” lists Amsterdam. “Central park in the afternoon, then Amsterdam’s family, then a show at Broadway and the evening ends with dinner at a steakhouse,” confirms Amy before jumping onto a bed. “Now y’all get some shut-eye before we go huntin’ for some sights.” Amsterdam giggles. “What’s with the fake southern accent?” She shrugs. “I don’t even know. G’night.” “But it’s morning.” “Exactly.” Amsterdam rolls his eyes and I watch him curl up on the ground. Sparkles steps over him and leaps onto the Amy’s bed. “This stalker didn’t think about how many cats we had in our posse,” Sparkles says as she hangs over the edge of the bed to wake up Amsterdam. “You’re in a bed with Snowpaw.” “Ew, I don’t want cooties!” he shrieks. “You showed enough affection for her in SeaWorld, so you can at least share a bed,” she sighs. He grunts and gets up. “C’mon princess, looks like it’s me and you, he says,” winking at me. “Get in the van.” “You have a dirty mind,” I complain. “I don’t want kits when I’m this young!” “Awk-ward…” sings Amy. “Can we get some popcorn from room service?” “No,” snaps Sparkles. “Learn about being mature, Amsterdam. Otherwise… we’ll tell your mom.” “Not my mom,” moans Amsterdam. “Ugh, that will be ''so ''embarrassing!” He jumps up onto the bed. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the other end, so the lady can sleep comfortably.” I decide to take the most out of this situation. “Thank you, darling.” “I’m not your darling,” he snarls. “Unless… unless you want me to be?” “Popcorn now!” shrieks Amy. “I’m not missing this unless I have a grape soda and some popcorn!” “But you don’t even LIKE grape soda,” laughs Sparkles. “Exactly.” I snort. “We’ll see.” Amsterdam grins. “What if I earn my black collar at Little Wings?” “Black collar?” I ask, puzzled. Sparkles lifts her head. “In Little Wings a cat’s rank is shown by their collar. Guests to the centre wear an orange collar. Underaged cats wear a red collar. Cats undergoing the 100-day training course wear a light blue collar, and cats who have passed their training wear a grey collar. Cats who perform outstandingly in a mission get to wear a navy collar, and outstanding performance in several missions earns a cat a black collar. Retired agents and staff members wear a white collar. FROST doesn’t have the collars yet, as they were introduced a few moths ago,” Sparkles explains. “I’m a navy collar,” she purrs. “Amy’s a black collar, Snarl wears a white collar, the other agents back at FROST are mostly grey collars; Scabs is the only other agent with a navy collar, you’re a grey collar, and Amsterdam is a red collar as he has not undergone training yet.” “Sounds cool,” I nod as I get into a comfortable sleeping position. “Why am I a grey collar if I haven’t even done training?” She shrugs. “I spoke to Snarl once and he told Little Wings about your warrior training. They said that missions will be a good substitute for the training you don’t have, and they accepted you for the rank of a grey collar.” “Will I ever be a navy collar?” “Maybe. If we take down this stalker from The Hidden, Snarl might consider it.” “And will you ever get a white collar?” “Eh, I might take on a job at the Little Wings campus soon. Maybe I might go along with Amsterdam to Little Wings and become a mission controller for FROST. I get to plan missions for you! How cool is that?” “That sounds awesome!” Amsterdam and I say together. “We wake up at midday,” says Sparkles, setting her alarm on her phone. “Yes ma’am,” barks Amsterdam as he salutes. Sparkles laughs. “You’d be an excellent trainee for Little Wings, Amsterdam. Just you wait.” Central Park is in the centre of Manhattan, hence the name ‘Central’ Park. It’s beautiful in early summer, with the leaves at their greenest and the sun shining down, creating a dappled path of light on the ground. “It’s so picturesque,” breathes Amy as she twirls through the grass. “Should we get a picnic?” “Four picnicking cats would be a bizarre sight to see for the humans who are on summer break,” says Sparkles sourly. “It would be safer to catch our own food and eat it up in the trees, out of sight.” My ears prick up. “I can teach you how to catch mice!” “We know how to catch mice; it’s one of the basics to surviving in the wilderness,” laughs Sparkles. “But maybe you could teach Amsterdam.” I look at Amsterdam for a response. He eagerly nods. “I’d love to improve my skills. They’re a bit sketchy.” We walk together to a fairly deserted spot near Amy and Sparkles. “Do you know the hunter’s crouch?” I ask him. “No,” he admits. “Crouch down, but keep your belly off the ground. Tuck your tail in - it’ll be harder to balance, but at least you won’t be disturbing your prey.” I demonstrate it for him, and he copies. “Perfect,” I purr. “Now, creep forwards, distributing your weight equally on both sides. Imagine that stick over there is a mouse.” I point at a nearby stick. “When you’re near enough, pounce on it and dig your claws in.” Amsterdam creeps forward, breathing slowly. He pounces like lightning, digging his claws into the soft wood. “They’re not sketchy at all!” I gasp. “You did that perfectly!” “Did I?” exclaims Amsterdam. “Woohoo!” He dances around for a bit. “So do you want to hunt together?” I nod, and we walk through Central Park. “Tell me about your family,” I mew as I sniff the air for prey. “We’re going to see them after lunch.” He ponders for a bit. “My real name is Chrome Starlight, but nobody ever calls me that. My mom’s name is America. I don’t know my dad. My mom is a red and white tabby with blue eyes. She has fluffy fur. I have a sister, and her name is Sakura. She’s also fluffy, but white with tiny pink petal shapes all over her body, like cherry blossoms. My dad named her before he left. But to fit in with my mom and I, we just call her Tokyo.” “My parents’ names are Iceflower and Eagleclaw. I have a brother called Thunderpaw. My best friend is Wolfpaw. I miss her.” “What’s with all the names?” Amsterdam asks. “I was born in a place called Thunderclan—” Amsterdam leaps up into the air. “I’ve heard of that! It’s in a book series!” “I’ve read it. Now, I was born in Thunderclan, where I learnt the basics of hunting and fighting. I once went with Wolfpaw to Twolegplace — a tiny version of New York City — so she could show me where to catch a load of rabbits to feed my clan. There I met Sparkles and some other agents of FROST, but at the time I thought they were the average housecats. I became fascinated with twoleg life and decided to stay in Twolegplace with Sparkles, and Wolfpaw went back to Thunerclan. A few months later Sparkles introduced me to FROST, and I went on my first mission. I took a small hiatus, then Amy appeared one night and you know how it goes from there.” Amsterdam stops. “You’re crying.” “I’m homesick.” “Then go back.” He touches my cheek gently. “I’ll hunt for us.” I turn around, wondering if Amsterdam has any feelings for me. Well, excuse me for being a she-cat. “You did good,” says Sparkles through a mouthful of food. “Thank you,” replies Amsterdam, lashing his tail against the soft grass. I stand up. “So are we ready to see Amsterdam’s family now?” Sparkles swallows her last mouthful. “I guess. Do your family live in Central Park?” “Yup. It’s near the centre, so we’re not that far off.” Without notice, he trots off. I run up to catch up with him, closely followed by Sparkles and Amy. “What’s the time?” Amy asks. “I booked the show at Broadway for 5PM.” “2PM,” answers Sparkles. she giggles. “I feel like we’re on a mission together, just the two of us.” “Remember that mission we did together? It was our first mission since graduating training and we had to protect the Queen of England,” Amy giggles back. “Operation Sixpence; I remember it clearly.” “What were we even protecting her against?” asks Sparkles. “The whole thing seemed pointless, looking back on it.” Amy clears her throat. “Queen Elizabeth II will see you now.” Sparkles almost chokes on her laughter. “That’s SO wrong! Get your mind out of the gutter!” “Okay, okay,” meows Amy, amused. “I was just joking, ‘kay? Jk, jk.” We turn into the centre of Central Park. A she-cat like Amsterdam had described earlier can be seen snoozing under a tree. America siblings open. “Amsterdam?” she gasps, her eyes like blue moons. “But I thought you were in Orlando!” “Fate brought me here,” he says as he nuzzles his mother. “Where’s Tokyo?” At that moment Tokyo comes bursting out of the treetops. “Amsterdam!” she yowls. Tokyo is small, small enough to be seen as Amsterdam’s little sister. “You’re back!” America spots us. “Who are these cats?” she asks, peering at us suspiciously. “Mom, this is Sparkles, Amy, and Snowfall.” He introduces us as he says our names. “They found me in Orlando and promised to take me back to he UK so I can become a spy.” “Woah whah whah.” America thrusts her face into Sparkles’. “You’re taking my son into a foreign country to train him up so he can risk his life?” she hisses. Sparkles backs away. “It’s not like that. The training program is safe and the risk of missions is dependent on the experience and skill of the cat.” America grunts. “Will I be able to see him?” “We’ll send him on missions in New York City as regularly as we can to maximise his chances of seeing you,” Sparkles promises. “And if he decides to retire, we’ll send him back here to live with you.” “Amsterdam’s becoming a spy?” gasps Tokyo. “Let me become one too! I may look younger than him, but we’re exactly the same age!” “We’re currently on a very dangerous mission, and Amsterdam just happened to get caught up with us,” I warn her. “We’re being chased by a maniac who might kill us all—” “No,” snaps America. “I’m not letting you lunatics put my daughter in danger.” “Then we’ll collect her when the mission is done,” negotiates sparkles. “She’ll train and go on missions with her brother so you’ll get to see them both regularly. Agreed?” “Agreed,” grunts America. “Tokyo, say goodbye to your brother.” I watch Tokyo and Amsterdam exchange goodbyes, and turn around to follow Amy and Sparkles. “So what’s next?” I ask. Amy turns around grinning. “Next stop is broadway, baby!” Instead of entering through the grand entranceway, we sneak through a shabby-looking side entrance. A dodgy-looking usher greets us. “What show?” he asks slyly. He leaps back as Amy produces a fake FBI pass. “We’re FBI agents. There’s rumours of a shooting happening tonight. Let us in to the audience. A balcony would be preferred.” The usher barks out laughter. “Don’t know what peeps been selling you sweetie, but cats ain’t in the FBI. Nice try.” Amy lunges forwards and slams the cat’s throat into the brick wall. Amsterdam looks on eagerly. “Nobody calls me ‘sweetie,’ she hisses, whipping out a knife and pressing the cold blade against the cat’s throat. “Let us in or doth blood flee thy veins.” “Fine, fine,” he squeaks. Follow me.” “We’re seeing Les Miserables,” informs Amy. “It starts at five on the dot.” “Cool cool,” whimpers the usher as he lopes up a flight of stairs. “Your balcony,” he gabbles before running off. We settle down. “That was amazing,” breathes Amsterdam. “I wanna learn how to do that!” Amy grooms herself as if it was nothing. “Sometimes you gotta take extreme precautions.” “Good job with the knife,” nods Sparkles. “But threatening the poor cat like that was a bit extreme.” Amy stiffens. “Nobody calls me sweetie, except my mate.” “And he’s dead,” Sparkles sighs. “You gotta move on, sis.” “But I made a vow never to take another mate,” she hisses. “As he slipped from my grasp when we were on the Seattle Space Needle, I vowed to never take another mate.” “And what mission was that?” Sparkles says. “Was it when we were both at Little Wings?” “Ya,” she nods. “It was my first mission without you. It was when I really bonded with my mate. And then he died.” “What was his name?” I ask, perking up. Amy slumps down. “His name was Smokey,” she sobbed. “Smokey Quartz. We both had gemstone names, Amethyst and Smokey Quartz. The mission was called Diamondeyes: Retrieve a stash of precious stones from a group of hardcore criminals who were aided by The Hidden. The mission went wrong and we were chased all over Seattle, eventually ending up on the space Needle. He skidded to the edge as a gang member approached us. The small sack of gemstones weighed him down and he fell to his death. I managed to kill several gang members in a fit of rage and managed to retrieve the gemstones and Smokey’s dead body, thus completing the mission and earning me my black collar.” I stroke her back with my tail. “I’m sorry for your loss. You’re very loyal to uphold that vow.” She turns to look at me. “Thanks,” she smiles, blinking back tears. The show starts, and Les Miserables is probably the best show I’ve ever seen. It’s better than any movie, theatre production, or TV show I’ve seen. And the music is just phenomenal! It’s dark as we exit Broadway. The harsh glow of the streetlights pool around us, and we skirt the edges of the light to avoid being seen. “Do you know where the nearest steakhouse is?” Amy asks. “Around the corner,” grins Sparkles. “Trust me, I know where ''all ''steakhouses in NYC are.” So we turn the corner into Ruth’s Chris Steak House, and slip into the alleyway by the side. Like in Catbucks, it’s finely decorated with soft lighting and glazed wooden walls and furniture. We find ourselves a table and soon a waitress is by our side, waving her brown plumy tail. “Welcome to Ruth’s Chris Steak House, can I take your order?” she chirps. “Four bowls of milk to drink, calamari to share, and a porterhouse for two to share.” Sparkles winks at us. “We get a day off so we might as well treat ourselves.” The waitress holds the pen between her teeth and scribbles everything down. “And for dessert?” “Four creme brûlées,” says Sparkles without hesitation. The waitress peers at her. “You know an awful lot ‘bout your order, and you don’t even have a menu.” Sparkles purrs. “I’ve been here lots of times, Nicole. You served me when I was here with Faolan.” “Sparkles?” she squeaks. “Oh my gawd! How have you been?” “I’ve been fine.” “How’s Faolan?” Sparkles giggled. “A little wolf, as always.” “Little body, wolf heart,” sighed Nicole. “Gonna leave FROST for a job at Little Wings?” “Maybe,” she shrugs. “I have a new recruit to take anyway. Meet Amsterdam.” Nicole nods and shakes paws with Amsterdam. “And who’s the white cat?” “Snowpaw. I recruited her a while ago and so far she’s killed one member of The Hidden.” “Golly,” Nicole admires. “Well, I’d better get going.” “See ya round Little Wings, Nicole!” Sparkles calls. I lean over the table to whisper, “Who was that?” “Someone in my training class when I was at Little Wings,” Sparkles answered. “Faolan is the leader of Little Wings. Has been for six years.” We spend the rest of the time discussing the ins and outs of Little Wings. When the food comes, we tuck in greedily. “This is the best steak ever!” exclaims Amsterdam. “Thanks, sparkles.” “No problem,” she says, sipping on her milk. “The food in Little Wings is as good as this.” Amsterdam hyperventilates and nearly chokes on his steak. “I— can’t— wait—” he chokes happily. “Training is harsh,” Sparkles warns. “It’s not just rainbows, rollercoasters, and sunshine. Chef will just abuse you. He’s head of training, by the way.” “Bring it,” he grins. “If you says so,” she shrugs, and takes another bite. When the steaks are gone, the brûlées appear. By the end we’re stuffed, and we have to catch a taxi back to the hotel. Amy switches on the light as we enter through the catflap. A new envelope is on the table and I start to feel sick. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” I moan. All the steak, brûlée and milk spills onto the floor. I heave myself out. “I’ll read what’s in the envelope,” Sparkles tells me. “You just go to bed.” She tears open the envelope and begins to read: Welcome back! Had a nice day? I’m hiding somewhere in this citay. “Citay isn’t a word,” mutters Amsterdam before Sparkles shushes him and continues. The hunt for clues begins next morning, Complete the hunt or face my scorning. “Not again,” I groan. Amy comes up behinds me and shoves me playfully on the shoulder. “But a spy’s gotta do what a spy’s gotta do,” she reminds me.